


No Snow in London

by Slantedlight (BySlantedlight)



Category: The Professionals (TV 1977)
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:54:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27817870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BySlantedlight/pseuds/Slantedlight
Summary: The lads have been sent on a job over Christmas, far, far away.
Relationships: William Bodie/Ray Doyle
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	No Snow in London

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alicambs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicambs/gifts).



Doyle took a deep breath, wishing he wasn’t so stiff and sore from chasing McLeod up and down hills for most of the _very_ early morning. His legs ached, his back was one huge bruise from having slammed into a mooring post on the jetty, before, naturally, falling gracelessly off the bloody thing and into the sea. They were showered, they’d been given breakfast, and now - _now_ \- they should have been falling onto their beds. They should have been sleeping the day away and forgetting it had ever happened.

“No snow,” Bodie said gloomily, back to Doyle and the room as a whole, staring out the window. It wasn’t like him, Doyle thought, not like him at all.

Doyle took a deep breath, feeling his patience stretching out. “It never snows in London,” he pointed out. “When was the last time it snowed in London?”

“No turkey, no mince pies, no Christmas pudding with brandy sauce.”

“Nope.”

“We’re going to miss the Queen’s speech.”

Doyle considered for a moment, slightly intrigued despite himself. “We’re going to will have missed it,” he said, “But even when we miss it, it won’t be due for another eleven hours.”

“You what?” Bodie turned to look at him finally, and even though his shoulders were slumped there was a slight spark in his eyes. It might have been a spark of annoyance, but it was a spark.

“Well think about it - we’re eleven hours ahead. It won’t be on at three o’clock anyway, it’ll be on at… well…” This wasn’t going to help, was it? “Two o’clock tomorrow morning…”

Bodie glared at him, and Doyle felt his own hackles starting to rise. He was trying his best, wasn’t he? It wasn’t his fault they were stuck out here, no planes for god knew how many days - or at least no planes that would take them. _Booked up…_ Bodie had suggested rousing the military, since they’d been doing their dirty work for them, but he had a funny feeling Cowley would take a dim view of that. He’d probably take this off their holidays as it was…

Time to try another tack.

“You were never home for Christmas anyway, after jumping your boat and sailing the seven mercenar-seas… Get it?” He paused, pleased with himself, “Mercenary-seas?”

Nothing.

“I thought…”

“Yeah, well, that was then - this is now, isn’t it?” Bodie said glumly. “We’re _never_ off duty for Christmas, and this… this just…” He turned and threw his arms up at the view, with its glare of blue sky and sunshine, the sea sparkling in the distance, mountain-ringed. “…and what the hell is _that_?”

Doyle followed his gaze. A bird had flown out across their green lawn and come to rest in one of the bushes by the window. The bush was dark green, with spiky red flowers, and the bird was black, Doyle thought, before he caught a flash of shining deep blue from its wings. There was a patch of yellow on top of its head, and two… He frowned, squinted his eyes. …what looked like two white pompoms around its neck. 

“Partridge in a pear tree?” he tried, twisting his lips wryly at Bodie. 

Bodie stared at him.

“Mal invited us for Christmas dinner - you turned him down. Not every day we get invited by the Chief of…”

“It was a barbie on the beach! With pavlova! And…and… _pavlova_. For Christmas.”

“It’s not like you to turn down good food…” Doyle began, but Bodie’s mouth was drooping - actually _drooping_ , and he looked like he’d had his favourite toy taken away from him. “Come on mate,” he said, reaching out and punching him lightly on the arm, “Cheer up?”

“Well…” Bodie turned back to the window. The bird had been joined by another one, almost the same but with no patch, and they’d flitted to another bush, red again, but with long buds rather than the spikey ones. They settled to the flowers, dipping their beaks into each one, and when they hopped down to the lower branches, they were both yellow-patched. 

Not partridges.

“Well…” Bodie said again, and when Doyle glanced over at him he was looking sheepish. “Had it all planned out, didn’t I. There’s a turkey back home going off in my fridge. A pile of brussels sprouts, and parsnips and potatoes, and by the time we get back the pigs’ll all have mouldy blankets.”

“You don’t like sprouts,” Doyle said, without thinking, and then caught his eye. “Oh…”

“You do,” Bodie shrugged. “Thought we could, you know - have Christmas dinner, watch a bit of telly…”

“…go to bed?” Doyle suggested, feeling a smile tug at his mouth. 

Bodie tilted his head back, looked a bit defiant. “Eventually. After the telly.”

Bodie looked good, when he was defiant. Better than gloomy, at any rate. It wasn’t right to see Bodie miserable.

“Never anything good on, Christmas night. It’ll be all Les Dennis and Russ Abbot and the rain streaming down the windows outside.”

Bodie put his hands on his hips, pulling the t-shirt tight across his chest, and lifted an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Still more like Christmas than it is here.”

Doyle shook his head slowly, reached out and hooked a finger over Bodie’s belt, tugging him to step closer, until they were t-shirted chest to t-shirted chest. “Nah. You’re just looking at it the wrong way up.”

“Whaddaya mean, the wrong way up?”

“Well - if we’re Down Under, we need to start from the other end, don’t we?” He leaned in closer, slid his hands around Bodie’s waist and up his back, under that soft t-shirt. Bodie felt warm, and alive, and there were other things they could do than sleep.

“You mean…” Bodie’s mouth twitched slightly, at last, at long last. “You mean go to bed first, and see which way’s up? I suppose we could…”

Doyle didn’t say anything this time, just leaned in to meet his lips, to kiss him properly. When he heard Bodie’s breath catch, when he could feel Bodie hard against him, and wanting him, and knew he’d wiped away his strange gloom, he pulled back and turned away to push the beds together, leaning over to untuck the blankets and pull back the sheets while he was at it. 

Above him Bodie smiled. They were in New Zealand, a thousand miles away from the rain and brussels sprouts, and the Queen’s speech, and the day stretched before him. Doyle was awake, and full of sex and promise, and that was all he’d wanted for his Christmas.

Outside the Tui hopped from branch to branch, dipping their heads to get at the pollen, and the sun shone down.

_21st December 2013_

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2013 when I was in New Zealand around Christmas time myself, thoroughly enjoying myself (unlike Bodie and Doyle) with the fab Alicambs - thank you for happy December memories!


End file.
